Cessation
by rizahawkaye
Summary: The New Democratic of Amestris has chosen to execute Roy Mustang, and Riza Hawkeye must say goodbye.


"Guilty of crimes against humanity," Riza repeated the words to herself in a choked whisper. She was sitting in a cold courtroom, her military uniform folded tightly over her small frame. Staring at her feet, she cradled her head in her hands and tried to make sense of the words as she said them.

The interim Führer clicked the heel of her boot to quiet the room full of unruly citizens who'd been ushered to the first sentencing trial of the New Democratic of Amestris. "Sentenced to death," she bellowed. Her words floated around the room like a ghost.

Riza tasted the burn of bile as it threatened to spill out onto her boots. Her head was spinning and there was a dull ringing in her ears that drowned out the excited shouts from the people around her. Someone to her right knocked her sideways as they threw their fist in the air and yelled something about justice.

"This isn't justice," Ed gripped the seat in front of him, keeling over like he was going to shatter. Riza bit back tears as she replayed Roy's last words to her in her head.

 _"You're pardoned, Colonel."_

They had rolled off his tongue like pockets of boiling ash.

 _What a joke._ Riza lifted her face to watch Roy stand with his head held high, looking tired but composed. As MPs cuffed him his eyes found hers. He mouthed something she didn't catch and she leaned forward in her seat, mouthing something back. He smiled at her, but his eyes didn't crinkle. "It was supposed to be the both of us," she groaned as she watched Roy's back turn. Ed wound an arm around her and tapped her head to his.

"No," he said. "It was never going to be the both of you."

Al reached over his brother's lap and clenched Riza's hand in his. Tears in his eyes, he told her, "You'll always have a home in us, Colonel." Riza placed a hand over his and squeezed, unable to compose a reply.

Neither brother's grip on Riza relaxed until the room had cleared. Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman each approached the trio to say their goodbyes before dissolving into the ocean of people whose hatred for one of their greatest friends was palpable. When the walls soaked up the mumbled curses and the halls no longer echoed with footsteps and angry voices, Ed sighed.

"Let's go," he stood fast, breaking the hold Riza and Al had formed on each other's hands. "We've been here all day and I'm hungry. It's going to be dark soon."

Al was slow to get up.

Riza wanted to curl into a ball and hug her knees to her chest to suffocate the pounding of her heart. Ed touched her shoulder. "Colonel," he said, his eyes soft. He lent a hand to her and she was grateful for the added stability as her legs protested her choppy movements. Her knees griped in pain when she unfurled them from her seat and started behind the boys for the courthouse exit.

Ed and Al flanked Riza on the short walk to her small, mostly empty apartment. She could feel them keep close as they fell behind her on the sidewalk, their hands hovering around the small of her back. She wanted to tell them to buzz off, but she hadn't seen herself in a few days and wondered absently about whether their apprehension was warranted.

The streets of Central were clear under the feathery light of the sunset. Riza clambered up the steps to her apartment with the warm sunlight hitching a ride on her back. She wanted to go bathe in it, to feel the burn on her face, but Ed practically pushed her through her door, mumbling something about his empty stomach. She headed to her kitchen and shuffled around lazily while the boys sat in silence at her small table, each setting empty stares on the floor.

It wasn't until Riza collapsed that a noise was made between the three of them. She whimpered into the floor as Al tried to pick her up off the linoleum. "You haven't slept in days, you have to take care of your body," Ed upbraided. "I'm surprised you've managed to stay up this long." He grabbed one of her arms as Al grabbed the other and they led her to her couch.

"I'll take care of dinner," Al told her, placing a pillow behind her. He fiddled around in the kitchen as Ed rubbed the back of his head and surrendered himself to the phone.

"I should call Winry," he murmured. Riza wrapped her pillow around her ears to avoid having to listen to his conversation. Ed's voice carried, however, and she was able to make out "death," and "guilty," and, "I know, Winry, please don't cry. I know, I'm sorry. She's okay, I think, just exhausted. I will. Love you too. Please, please don't cry."

"I warmed some soup I found in your fridge," Al returned from the kitchen balancing three cups in his hands, his voice barreling over Ed's. "There's not much, but it's hot and smells good." He handed a cup to Riza who abandoned her makeshift muffler in favor of her leftover bread soup.

"Be sure to finish that," Ed sauntered into the room and deposited himself next to Riza.

"How's Winry?" Riza asked him, sipping at her cup and knowing.

"Devastated," Ed replied. Stillness engulfed the room as that word hovered around it. When Ed had slurped the last bit of soup from his cup, he said, "You're stronger than all of this, Colonel. You have to sleep, and you have to eat. I'm tired of you moping around because it isn't like you. You've got everyone worried, the Führer included."

"Brother," Al injected, but Ed cut him off and continued, "Remember the Führer's fight with Lust? Remember when he gave Envy up for this country?" He met Riza's eyes with his own. Focused, golden. "He's never expected this for you. He's been preparing for this for decades, Colonel, and he will go. When he does you're going to have to be strong enough to stay, or else everything he's sacrificed will have been for nothing."

"I wont kill myself, Edward," Riza's voice sounded hoarse.

"That's not what I'm getting at," Ed said, but both Elric brothers sighed in relief.

"I need answers," Riza finished.

"Answers?" Al queried.

"Why was I pardoned? Why did he pardon me? I'm as much a killer as he is," She gripped her cup tightly in her hands.

Quiet rolled over them for a moment before Ed spoke. "They can't kill everyone involved," he looked into his empty cup and took a breath. "Scar got so many alchemists back in the day, and every person like you following orders fresh out of the academy would be half of Central."

"So the Führer's a scapegoat," Riza didn't ask. Her voice sounded far away, muffled.

Ed and Al exchanged nervous glances before Al spoke up and said, "He went to Grumman before the title switch and he begged for your pardon. The late Führer signed an executive order that effectively pardoned you and anyone like you."

Riza's heart fell into her stomach. _Idiot._

"This was always how it was supposed to be," Ed reminded her. His voice grew soft and trailed off in that way it did when he felt broken or powerless.

"I need to see him," Riza stood, her blood boiling, and placed her cup on the table. In a few strides she had her fingers wrapped around the knob of her front door.

"Okay," Ed told her, not looking up from his cup.

"We'll wait here," Al assured her, giving her a small smile.

Riza walked fast. The night air trapped her in memories of the streets she sped past and lights illuminated the paths she took with Roy through the city. She felt like she couldn't breathe; it felt like it had when Pride wrapped himself around her and squeezed, cutting lines into her face. The scar that nestled into her neck began to burn, the scar that plastered her back _burned_. Everything burned and by the time her feet reached Central headquarters she was running, sweat dripped off her nose and caked her cheeks. She flinched reflexively at shadows and pondered about how she'd face them without a phone call and cart of flowers.

"Colonel Hawkeye," an MP saluted her as she breezed past him. Her salute was a lazy dismissal.

"I'm here to see the Führer," Riza huffed at a man behind a counter she'd leaned on, walked past, gossiped at for decades.

"Armstrong?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mustang," Riza barked, her frustration flaring. "I'm here to see Mustang, _Führer_ Roy Mustang. Do you need me to spell it for you?" She pressed her palms to the marbled surface, pushed her face into his. Her heart was racing. "Why would I be here for _Armstrong_? _Don't you know who I am_?"

"I-I'm sorry, Colonel," the MP stammered. "Roy Mustang isn't he-"

"Hawkeye," Olivier's voice cracked into Riza's ears, breaking her outburst. "I'll take you to him."

"Führer!" The young man snapped into a nervous salute.

"I want to go alone," Riza told her, her voice cold.

"How did you know he was here?" Olivier asked.

"I know you wouldn't send him anywhere I can't easily find him. Not tonight."

"I'm breaking a lot of rules by keeping him here."

"You're Führer for now," Riza's words were wet with venom. "You make the rules."

"That I do," Olivier tapped her sword against the floor. "Follow me."

Riza was tired. Her feet dragged sluggishly against the floor, behind her temporary Führer, down a familiar corridor and through familiar doors into a room where, against a wall of windows, Roy sat in his large chair. His legs crossed, a pen touching his lip, he faced the view of the Central streets below him. Olivier's guards parted to hold positions in different corners of the room. They fixed their guns on Roy and Riza fumed, almost reaching for her Enfield on instinct.

"That's not necessary," she hissed at Olivier.

"There's someone here to see you," ignoring Riza, Olivier approached Roy.

"You've given me this office for the night," he said. His voice made the hairs on the back of Riza's neck bristle. "But you've gone and made this harder by bringing her here." Riza surveyed his reflection in the windows. She watched him lean forward, uncross his legs and stick the pen in his pocket. He rubbed his temples, his eyes, before turning to her.

"You're not a criminal, you're just an idiot," Olivier smacked Roy's head and touched Riza's shoulder on her way out, her guards falling silently behind her.

Roy lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers at her. "Goodbye, _Führer_."

"Just an idiot," Olivier huffed, tugging the large doors shut behind her.

Riza waited until she could no longer hear footsteps in the hall. "You are an idiot, sir."

Roy stood from his chair.

Riza took a step backward. "I don't need your protection, Führer," she told him, knowing he'd know what she was talking about without explanation. "I didn't need this from you, I _never_ needed this from you. I knew what I was doing when I found my way into your office that day, and I knew what I was doing when I continued to adhere myself to you and this ungodly country and your impossible dreams." She felt angry, her hands balled into fists. She watched Roy move toward her, the grey streaks in his hair illuminated under the fluorescent lights. The shadows under his eyes made his face look sunken. Riza swallowed a scream.

"You're not supposed to go where I can't follow, sir," she spat the words at him, like she was hoping they'd burn him the way he'd burned her. Roy didn't smile, he didn't frown, but he caught one of her hands in his and her muscles relaxed at his touch. He unfurled her fingers.

He was wearing a stained button-down, un-tucked from his pants. He smelled like alcohol.

"What are you doing?" She whispered at him.

"Everything I always planned to," he answered her. He pressed her hand to his chest, cradled it there in his hand. His dark eyes settled on her face.

"I'm so angry," she told him.

"I know," he said.

"They'll call you so many things you aren't."

"We knew they would."

"They call me things."

"Like what?"

"'Murderous bitch.'"

He was quiet for a moment.

"I can handle myself, sir," she assured him, noticing the set of his jaw.

"So can I," he moved closer to her. "Your hair is getting long."

It fell far down her back; she hadn't cut it in years.

"Don't ever cut it," he told her. "Never mind, cut it. Too many creeps are into long hair."

"I'm going to quit doing this," she bluffed.

"The military? That's fine," he traced the scar on her neck with his free hand. "Go to Resembool, find a house near the Elrics."

"Our job is done?" She asked him.

"Don't watch me die," he pleaded.

"The last thing you'll ever see, _Führer_ , is my glare."

They were trapped in one another; standing in the middle of a room they spent years occupying. Roy grinned at her.

"I shouldn't expect anything else."

"How will I do this without you?" She asked him. She knew she could, knew she would, but a part of her was scared to. She thought of every fight they'd wandered into together, she counted all her scars and his and thought about braving the nightmares alone. Her stomach lurched.

"You just will," he said. His breath felt warm against her face. The slow rumble of his voice reminded her of every shout, every comforting grunt, every word he'd ever said to her. Her legs felt weak under the weight of their lives - of his life coming to an end, of that gruff voice filling the space inside the room. She gripped his shirt with the hand he'd placed against him. She pressed her knuckles into his chest and felt his heart beat strong against her skin.

Hot tears burned her eyes.

She shook her head, never having felt so vulnerable in her decades of being his adjutant. "I'm going to die but who I am and what I did has to live in you," he said. "Everyone dies, Colonel. It's memories that make their lives meaningful." Riza's breathed hitched audibly. She fought the urge to bury her face into his whiskey-blotched shirt.

"I'll be here all night," he told her. "You're welcome to stay with me. As hard as this is, you're already here and this office is ominous without bodies to fill it."

"How long do you have?" She asked him, gently pushing herself off him. His knuckles grazed her jaw as he dropped his hand to his side.

"I don't know," he ran his fingers through his hair. "A week, a month, a day? They get to take their sweet time deciding. I think they like keeping the citizens worked up. I think it makes them feel like they've got them on their side."

"They have to work for their positions now," Riza said, pulling a chair out from the long table her friends and comrades had sat duteously doing work for years. "They need to make friends to get votes to run the country."

"Maybe we've created a whole other monster," Roy leaned against his desk, crossed his arms and legs.

"Why did Olivier let you stay here?" Riza asked.

"Because I asked her if I could," Roy told her. "She's not evil, Colonel. She doesn't want to be Führer, but since they picked her to act as one she figured she'd do me a favor and be a bad one."

Riza knew her distaste for Olivier was unwarranted, but Olivier was the career military official who had overseen Roy's trials for the past few months. Riza couldn't think about the inevitability of Roy's fate without picturing the long blonde hair of Olivier Mira Armstrong. She clenched her jaw, leaned forward in her chair, and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

"Hey," Riza hadn't noticed Roy move, but he was in front of her, pulling her chin up.

"You keep touching me, sir," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his hand on her. "I don't know when will be the last time I will get to touch you. I certainly kept my distance for the past few decades."

"You did not," she challenged.

"Well, I did try."

"At first, and not very well, sir."

He yanked her up by the collar of her jacket. He encased her jaw in his hand and kissed her as he wound an arm around her waist. She pressed herself into him, ardently opposing every military law, every watchful eye that had ever kept them apart.

"You're weak, sir," she told him as she pulled back to catch her breath. Her lips burned where he'd just been. The hand he'd cloaked her jaw with had traveled down her neck to her scar.

"I'm going to miss you, Colonel," he rested his forehead on her shoulder and buried his face in her neck.

Riza felt the burn as tears betrayed her feigned brevity and trickled down her face. "You'll be dead. You wont miss anyone, sir."

"But I'll miss you," he repeated, running his hands under her shirt and pressing them against her back.

"I'm not dying, sir, you are. I'm not dying, so I'll be missing you. It doesn't make sense for you to miss me," she gasped and tried to stifle the sobs her words were turning into. She twisted her hands into his shirt and pressed her face into his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm sorry," he said, crushing her to him. She heard his voice quiver and felt his form shake and she broke. Her knees buckled underneath the weight of his tears searing her skin. He caught her, anchoring her to his chest so she wouldn't slide away from him. Her breath stopped loudly in her gut, catching her sobs and causing her to cough them out into his shirt. Her breathing erratic, Roy pulled back to hold her face in his hands and whisper, "Breathe, Colonel," against her lips.

She clawed at him, holding tightly onto his arms to keep steady as cries wracked their way painfully through her body. Where her anger had been, agony made a home. "I can't breathe, sir."

Roy began sinking to the floor and he tugged Riza gently down with him. He reached up and plucked a half-full bottle of whiskey off the large bookshelf that lined the wall of the office. He took a long swig, then sat back on his hand and turned the bottle over to Riza, who matched his thirst. They sat silently on the floor, tears burning their eyes as they passed the whiskey bottle back and forth until Riza tipped the last bit down her throat.

"Drink more of this for me when I'm gone," Roy tried to smile.

"I don't like drinking, sir," she reminded him as she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Yes, I know," his eyes were red, puffy. Riza tried to remember the last time she'd seen him cry.

"Alcohol makes you weak," she said. "It ruins your reaction times, loosens your tongue, and inhibits your ability to control your actions."

"You're preaching to the choir here, Colonel," Roy rubbed the back of his head and yawned.

"The last time you cried," Riza mused, spinning the empty bottle around on the floor. "The last time I saw you cry was when Hughes passed, sir." Quiet cut through the air like a knife. Roy fell back onto the floor and tucked his arms underneath his head. Riza watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically until he said, "I've cried lots of times between now and then."

"I said the last time _I_ saw you cry, sir," she placed the whiskey bottle on the desk behind her and skid across the floor to lie next to him, her hands tucked close to her sides. She stared up at the ceiling in the room she'd shared with him for years. She tried to listen to every conversation, every whisper, every interaction they've had within the walls and her heart swelled against her ribs. She felt the tears threaten to return and said, "I guess technically this is the last time I've seen you cry."

Roy chuckled. "Colonel, you're so bleak."

"I want to sleep, sir," she told him, suddenly feeling her exhaustion as she relaxed next to his warmth. Months of his trial had gone by in a blur and sometimes Riza wouldn't sleep for days, and when she did sleep they were power naps during her lunch breaks or micro naps on her way to the courthouse. She hadn't cried, either, and the anxiety had built a nest in her that she'd ignored for too long. "Crying is taxing."

"You didn't just cry," a smile tugged at the corners of Roy's mouth. "I mean, you _bawled_ ," he teased. Riza reached over meaning to backhand his chest, but instead twisted her hand around and curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She gathered herself into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He coiled an arm around her and she listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed, and dragged, and was imperceptible by the time she drifted off into sleep.

The sun had barely touched the sky when the Führer crept into the office and woke Riza with the tap of her boot.

"As much as I don't want to have to do this," she said, eyeing Roy's sleeping form and waiting patiently for Riza to untangle herself from his arms and rub the sleep out of her eyes. "It's time to get him to the prison."

"Prison," Riza mused, the word kicking a harsh reality into her. She reached a hand up to Roy's face and touched his jaw.

"Mustang," Olivier bellowed before Riza could wake him gently. Roy startled awake, grimacing at the light reflecting through the room. He placed a hand on Riza's back and used her as support to sit up. Running a hand over his face, he said, "It's time."

"That it is," Olivier told him, the slightest bit of an apology coating her words. Riza had to consciously hold in the urge to head butt her interim Führer as she lifted herself off the floor to meet Olivier's eyes with her own. "Colonel Hawkeye, go home and get some rest. I'll take care of Mustang from here."

"Colonel," Roy said. Riza turned to him as he was bowing down low. "You've been my greatest ally and my closest friend. Thank you."

Riza didn't have to think before she clicked her heels and bowed back to him. "Führer," she said. "It's been a pleasure." She spun away from him then, cutting past Olivier and her bodyguards, ignoring the way he'd bowed below her level as if she were something greater than him. His words buzzed around in her head as she maneuvered through the halls and descended the steps to Central headquarters. Catching the burn of the sun on her face, she repeated his words to her in her head.

 _"You've been my greatest ally and my closest friend."_

 _"You're pardoned, Colonel."_


End file.
